


Burden

by peppermintquartz



Series: Bane and Blake [4]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:46:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake thinks of himself as a realist. Bane knows Blake to be an optimist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burden

Cobblepot walks without even a trial being held. Something about evidence tampering and police incompetence, and Gordon is seething in his office, slamming back folders and accidentally smashing a coffee mug.

"The rug isn't expensive, but you ought to make sure the taxpayers don't have to pay for a new one so soon," says Blake, trying to lighten the mood. He is in costume - not that it helps, Gordon knows him too damn well from their five-month siege partnership - and perches on the windowsill in the shadows.

Gordon rounds on him. "Someone in the force is on his payroll, I know it! But he's too slippery and I need something that will stick on him."

"He's slick," Blake allows grimly. The police got him on a weak racketeering charge and even that has been torn to shreds by some very powerful lawyers. Now Gordon needs to put Cobblepot back in the slammer asap, before the Gothamites start calling for blood again. They are quite forgetful, Blake thinks sourly, remembering how hard Gordon tried to rescue Gotham from Bane and his goons.

Jim Gordon has not found out about Bane yet, only that Blake has a new "boyfriend" (Blake has been very, very discreet on that score) and that both stay together in Blake's crappy new apartment (when they bother to go back to it after a night's patrol). Blake is keeping Bane away from Gordon; he has no doubt that his mentor will not be happy to see Bane still alive, even if he no longer has that odd mask that pumps in weird chemicals to numb pain.

Gordon unleashes a string of vulgarities so coarse that Blake almost blushes, but the younger man takes notes in his head on how to swear properly the next time he has occasion to. Still, Gordon remembers Blake long enough to place copies of the investigations on the table, and then walks out to get a new mug with more coffee, coincidentally leaving Nightwing unwatched for the precious few seconds to swipe the copies and disappear.

 

 

Bane is already tracking Cobblepot, and the rotund criminal has been sending messages to check on the latest shipment of God-knows-what. Even after two months, Bane has not been able to pin any specific smuggling on Cobblepot; the man is intelligent and cunning enough to start his crime empire in the right ways.

The only reason Bane hasn't yet snapped Cobblepot's non-existent neck is that he has not been tried by the court and he hasn't had a second chance. This is the agreement he has with Blake, and he intends to honor it. Blake refuses outright to kill anyone, and forbids Bane from doing so. Bane disagrees with the 'not killing' bit. After a lot of fights and a lot of make-up sex and some more fights, Blake and Bane negotiated the terms: Blake will do his best to get the criminals arrested. If they get convicted, great. If they don't and they return to their old ways, then they are Bane's to dispose of. Convicts processed out of the penitentiary systems who turn over a new leaf are also left strictly alone.

In all honesty, if Bane decides to kill somebody, not even Blake can stop him.

But it's _Blake_.  

Bane knows that his loyalty has been severely skewed ever since he woke up in a dingy apartment without his mask or the numbing gas and with Blake watching over him. Even now, more than a year without the chemicals, he still suffers bouts of blinding agony. It's always Blake who keeps by his side, regardless of the crime happening in the city, staying beside him to wipe away his sweat or to wait out his shivering attacks or to just let Bane thresh wildly in bed until he wears out all his immense strength... and then Blake puts him back together again.

It's  _Blake._

That is why Bane waits until Cobblepot has put down the phone and Nightwing has joined him on the rooftop.

"Hey. What's he been up to?"

"Calling people." He checks over the slender young man in appreciation of the way the reinforced fabric clings to the fit body. Lucius Fox, at Bruce Wayne's behest, has become a sponsor of sorts to Blake. It didn't hurt that Fox thinks that Blake is a hero, and that Gordon vouches for him, and that Alfred Pennyworth who has returned to become co-founder of the St. Swithin's Home for Orphans is charmed by John Blake.

(Alfred alone also knows that Bane is back, and has decided to trust in Blake's belief in Bane's rehabilitation. He also has a Colt .45 when he visits the cave, which Bane tolerates and Blake pretends not to know about. In any case, Blake has a magical way of persuading people to see the world the way he does, Bane privately believes, since he is also a victim to the same appealing face.)

Blake huffs out, a steaming cloud in front of his face. "Gordon's taken many of his cronies but they won't talk. They're scared. Apparently Cobblepot and his tuxes made a great impression on how little he likes to slice up traitors' loved ones to feed to the fish in Gotham's bay."

"I could have made the men talk." 

"I'm not letting you anywhere near Jim Gordon, Bane. He's liable to shoot you on sight." Blake's hand brushes over Bane's shoulder. "He has a great memory for people."

"You think he'll see me." Bane smirks. It is still somewhat novel for him to have his expressions on display; he seldom shows any, except to Blake, and even Bane thinks it odd that Blake doesn't find the scarred, twisted mouth scary or ugly.

Blake leans over the ledge and peers downwards, charting the route to take to crash Cobblepot's party once the muscle turns up. It's Gotham; there are always criminals. 

"We'll hit them at the docks," Blake decides after a pause. "Do you know which one?"

"Not yet. The most likely location is Eastern." Bane glances at the sliver of a moon, gauges the time. There is probably another hour to go before the actual unloading. "He will not go there unless there is an emergency."

"An hour?" Blake chuckles humorlessly. "Let's give him a reason then."

"I'll track Cobblepot."

"I'll create some mayhem."

And as the younger man runs over the roofs - it is not far, and going over the roofs Nightwing can be there in under fifteen minutes - Bane considers if he ought to have told Blake to be careful. But the big man is not sentimental by nature, and Cobblepot has not risen to the top of the maggot heap by virtue of luck.

 

 

Nightwing - Blake likes the name, even if it sounds like a comic character - is the symbol for New Gotham. He knows that much of the impact of Batman has been lost on the new denizens of the Gotham deeps; he is now the vigilante that supports Gotham's finest. Much of the impact made by Nightwing is due to Bane. Blake is in no illusion about that. He just wishes that Bane will give up killing. He's tried, God knows, but Bane believes in the final solution rather than rehabilitation. Blake supposes it's because of his upbringing. If Blake had been brought up in a prison that no one ever escaped from and was expected to die in, he probably would have a bleak view of life too.

But he hadn't, and Bane is no longer in the Pit, and lives are important.

Second chances are important. 

It's growing foggier by the second and it's the fog that helps and hinders Nightwing as he descends closer to the water. Without sight to aid him, Blake keeps an ear out for the chatter of hired help. Something about being criminals and thugs keep them from being able to shut their traps, but Blake is usually thankful for their gossip. This time, though, the paid help is silent.

Then a distant light flashes through the heavy fog and Blake shivers. He has to make a decision and with a quick glance at his watch, he decides that he will intercept the unloading whether it is Cobblepot's or not. It's easier to do the arrest after the goods have been unloaded, he thinks, because then he will have the evidence to help Gordon and the other detectives. There is the issue of the insider, of course, and Blake is determined to find him or her out. He sends a text to Gordon with his location, knowing that Gordon will need time to muster his troops.

A wry realization hits Blake: if Bane is deadly loyal to Blake, then Blake is similarly ferocious in his faithfulness to Comissioner Jim Gordon, But for different reasons, of course.

The shipment will be unloading soon and Nightwing springs into action. He drops to a lower container and hunkers down, keeping to the shadows even in the fog. The Cobblepot gang grumble and move out, faint shadowy figures in badly-lit fog, and Nightwing holds his breath and counts. The thugs move into a line. Blake is now better at gauging his enemies, so he picks out the guards easily - two stout men, each holding firearms of some sort. Shoddily held too, he thinks, and he calculates the moves he needs to make to disarm them. Looking around him he locates a small paper bag. _Gerry's Fried Chicken_. Blake wonders why he can never find a proper diversion, like a tin can or something, and chucks the bag over to an alley.

"Someone's here," Gun Thug One says to Gun Thug Two.

"Boss said not to leave our posts," grunts Gun Thug Two. "Leave it."

 _Dammit._ Blake wishes for the good ol' days, when criminals are dumb enough to check out random noises individually. No chance of him being able to take them out one by one then. Fox has been nice enough to give him some metal spikey things - Bane called them _shuriken_ \- and he flings one at a dark figure below. There is a sharp cry of pain and Blake grins with victory. Then he ducks as bullets pepper the sky above his head.  _Oh yeah. Guns._

Blake rolls and drops from the other side, sneaks up around them and kicks one into unconsciousness before he has time to turn. Then he pushes right into the reach of Gun Thug One (or maybe Two, he can't recall) and decks him under the jaw, captures the arm and twists his wrist until the weapon drops with a clatter. Without breaking pace he breaks the man's nose and then punches him behind the ear, in the spot Bane assures him that will knock a man out for an hour at least. He picks it up and throws it over the top of the nearest container. The noise distracts the others from their tasks and Nightwing disappears into the fog, grabbing the other gun in the process.

He hears someone shouting, and then someone talking to someone who isn't there, and then he hears more people shouting. He hides, and waits. In his head he counts to twenty, then to forty, and then he climbs upwards in order to gain altitude and thus velocity. It's hard to fight in fog like this, because he has no clue whether a person is there to break his fall or not, but after a year of Bane's tutelage he can assess the situation pretty well and can chart a group's most likely movements in a location as obstructed as a dock. He is reasonably sure that Cobblepot has been alerted that there is someone there at the docks.

That means Bane will be here soon.

Blake cannot help the fondness in his chest nor the smile on his face. It's odd to love a man like Bane, but he does, and he thinks it's because he sees a second chance is working in Bane, which means that a second chance will work in anyone. And Bane, despite the horrors he inflicted on Batman, is not in himself evil. Blake has seen evil. He has seen deranged. 

He can still taste the fear and bile when he was selected as part of the crew to escort the Joker from Arkham Asylum to the state maximum security prison. He had looked for just a moment - maybe three seconds - into the mocking gaze of the scarred man and he had almost shit his pants. He knew that if he had to fight, he might win physically, but psychically the Joker would tear him apart. Gordon had been there too, watching the Joker move in his heavy chains and under armed guard from the building into the van, and then the commissioner had personally driven the armored van to the state pen. 

But when Blake looked into Bane's eyes that day when the huge man had lain broken and bleeding, all he saw was sorrow and loss and empty rage in surprisingly clear blue eyes. 

There is a squeal from tires and Blake tenses fractionally. He bets it's Cobblepot. But he remains still, and counts again, this time to twenty, before he rolls to his feet and starts running. The boots strike a steady staccato on metal, and the noise echoes and thunders in the foggy gloom. He may not have the imposing build of the Batman, but he knows how to make an entrance all the same, thank you.

And then he spies a dark silhouette. Mentally counting off the paces, he leaps over the edge and bounces, once, twice, and smashes straight into the back of the thug below him. The man goes down without even a cry, and Blake takes the gun again, tossing it onto yet another container before he takes the high ground again. The pattern repeats and he now hears Cobblepot's high-pitched, angry orders, and he fires the latest gun just for fun, the noise again spread all over the docks because of the fog.

After the fourth thug is knocked out, Blake is caught up in thick arms and instinctively he kicks out, pushing off the nearest container wall and throwing his captor off balance. At least, that was the plan. Instead the man doesn't even budge and bends forward, causing Blake to lose his balance, and then turns Blake about in his arms without even slowing.

Only one man Blake knows can do this, and he relaxes immediately. "He's here?"

"Armed to the teeth." Bane touches foreheads with Blake, and then releases him. "There are three more, not including Cobblepot, and there's a fire at Harrods."

"Shit." Blake knows that Gordon will not have enough people to help him. Fire at Harrods will lead to looting, and Gordon will have to have the GCPD present to keep gawkers and looters at bay. "We're on our own then."

"I prefer it that way."

"I know." 

Bane glances to the left and then flashes a few signals. These are signals from the League of Shadows; Bane taught them to Blake carefully and patiently until Blake is as well versed as any in the League. The two men share a glance, and then both fade into the fog.

 

 

"Find him!" shrieks Cobblepot. "I will  _not_ have some costumed freak find out about what's coming ashore!"

"Boss, he's already fucking taken out six of our fellas." The tall, bony one shifts his rifle slightly. "Maybe we oughta postpone this?"

Cobblepot stares at him, and then smiles politely. "What was I thinking, Randolph? You are absolutely spot-on with your observations." He adjusted his coat and then turns and shoots Randolph in the neck. "And unnecessary."

The remaining two hired men dare not look at the guy dying on the ground. Cobblepot tilts his head and says quietly, "If this goes well, we all get rich. Think about yourselves, for goodness's sakes." Then he pauses and adds, "Stay put, watch our backs, and watch the swearing."

Ten minutes pass. 

The craft bearing the shipment has docked and a swarthy, broadly-built man swaggers off the boat with a rolling gait. "Heya, Oswald. Finally found yerself a nest, eh?"

"Enough of a nest. Where are the geese, Hugo?"

Hugo indicates with a jerk of his head and then there are five more men coming out. Each holds a semiautomatic, and they take flanking positions. Then Oswald goes up the deck and peers in. 

"Most excellent." Oswald gestures for one of the five men to go down belowdecks.

 

 

Blake is watching and he tenses. Then he hears the cries and a shriek, women's and young children's voices and then he feels the old rage rising. 

The shipment is women and  _children_.

He suddenly finds himself in open ground, fists taking out one, shuriken flying at the eyes of another and he dodges a burst of bullets. He lunges at one and shoves him over into the choppy waters, and they struggle clumsily. The other men peer down from the dock, their guns trying to aim at Blake but his dark costume offer him more camouflage than the other guy.

Oswald Cobblepot emerges again and wrests a weapon from one of his thugs. Without even a warning, he fires at the two struggling combatants and Blake feels the sting of hot lead after he sinks into the water. He can't even try to swim, the burn in his left bicep blinding him to the water, and he has no clue how long it has been when he comes back to the surface, pressed against the slimy concrete of the dock and he tries his best to breathe quietly.

Not too far from him the other guy is much less lucky. He floats facedown, and is bumping against the dock. Blake ignores the corpse as best as he can, trying to place the opponents above him. Before he can calculate the distance he has to swim to the nearest steps, he hears the sounds of struggle. Then a cut-off yell, and there's another burst of loud gunfire when a person flies over his head and lands heavily in the water.

Blake thinks he might be sick when he realizes the new corpse has no head. Some women are screaming, and there's someone shouting at them to shut up, and all this time there is no sound from Bane.

 _Bane. God, Bane, be careful, be safe._ Blake kicks away, knowing that no one will be looking into the water, not with Bane taking up their attention. Blake grits his teeth against the wound. Why does he have to take up the same stupid anti-gun philosophy as Batman? He can shoot them from a distance and then he doesn't have to get hurt, and as he pulls himself painfully up the ladder he reminds himself why.

He is not the judge, nor the jury, and most definitely not God. It's easy to be distant and above it all from behind the trigger.

He almost calls out when he finally gets to the dock and he sees that Bane is all right. However, it is not a good sight for his eyes. Bane is still standing, thank God, but Cobblepot has a child, a dark-haired girl, with a gun to her head, and he sees Blake coming towards him.

"So. You two are the new Batman," says Cobblepot. Three of his men still stand with him, but one is sagging to the side and one has what appears to be a broken arm. The third is Hugo and he has a pistol in hand too. "Now. My merchandise will leave with us, safely, and I will not kill this girl."

"Kill her," says Bane. "I care not."

"No, wait," Blake interrupts. His feet squelch as he moves forward. "The girl is innocent."

Blake is ten steps from Bane, fifteen from Oswald Cobblepot, and there is a gun that lay forgotten at his feet. He is dripping and he knows he is dripping a fair bit of blood. Bane can probably smell it on the breeze; the fog is thankfully dissipating. He says nothing more but takes stock of the scene. Bane is two paces from a semi. A dozen women, all slim and pretty and frightened, are kneeling behind Cobblepot's thugs, who have guns pointed at them. Ten children, including the one Cobblepot has with him, all girls, all young enough to still be in grade school. The hostage is not crying, however, and Blake feels oddly proud.

On the other hand, Bane looks absolutely calm. Blake knows his lover well enough to see that Bane is about to unleash a lot of violence.

But Cobblepot has the girl.

That makes the decision for him. Blake raises his hands and sinks to his knees, as though to show surrender, and Cobblepot sneers.

"So much for Gotham's new hope." He looks at Blake. "Bet it's this big guy that's been watching your back, eh? He's the real set of claws and you get all the glory."

The gun pushes into the soft underside of the girl's jaw and she whimpers. Bane relaxes more into his stance. Blake adjusts his feet, and touches the gun with his right toe.

"Look, walk. Leave the girl and walk away," says Blake quietly. "Take your men and leave. We don't have to do this."

"You are absolutely right," crows the squat, fat man, and he grins obscenely. "Hugo, the truck. The two of you, get to it. I'll just make sure our heroes don't try anything silly."

It is an agonizing ten minutes as the women and children are shoved onto the vehicle. Hugo closes the door, while the other two men take the wheel and wait. 

Cobblepot waddles forward, making sure that the gun is always just under the girl's jaw, and just as he gets to the front seat he opens it and clambers up. He then smirks and says, "Hey, Nightwing. What happens if I take away your talons?"

Blake doesn't get it until he sees the gun shift. The criminal aims his gun at Bane. Then hell breaks loose, so fast that Blake doesn't register what happens till much later. 

\- Bane ducks and rolls.

\- The girl lets herself fall to the side.

\- Blake grabs the gun by his right foot, takes aim, and shoots Cobblepot in the forehead. 

\- Bane takes the semi and shoots Hugo, then the two drivers, and then hurls the gun away into the water.

They unlock the doors and tells the girl not to say anything about the big guy, and they leave.

 

 

The sirens wail and the police come and the seven-year-old girl is left to explain in fragmented English and Cantonese what happened earlier.

Gordon thinks the girl is hallucinating about the Big Bear Man helping Nightwing, because the large hairy man is clearly dead. He intends to talk with Nightwing though. Killing criminals turns him from an assisting crimefighter to a murderer. However, Gordon thinks that most Gothamites won't bother wanting to hunt Nightwing down, not after Batman and the Joker or Batman and Bane. They have fairly long memories, the citizens of this dark city.

 

 

Blake bites into the towel in his mouth as Bane dresses the wound efficiently. The bullet only grazed him, thank goodness, and it had stung like the blazes because of the saltwater.

When the ministrations are over, Blake leans back into the solid warmth of Bane. And then he draws a shuddering breath and folds up into himself. Bane pets him gently, waiting for Blake to speak.

"I shot him."

"You did."

"That's the third person I've shot." Blake breathes in deeply. "He's the first I killed deliberately."

Bane keeps his mouth shut.

Blake turns in Bane's arms and burrows into the big man's neck. "How do you live with all that blood on your hands?" he whispers hoarsely.

Bane cannot think of a way to express it. Blake clutches at him as though Bane is a lifeline, but Bane knows that his own hands are drenched with blood, and it is with great humility that he raises his hands to cup Blake's face and peer into warm brown eyes.

"Little one," rasps Bane, "I've asked you before to let me do the cleansing of the populace."

"I know. I thought you just wanted to-"

"It isn't bloodlust that I feel, little one. I wanted to make sure that you never have to bear this burden of another man's life," says Bane gently. "I... am not you. I have borne the blood of many. I have killed too often to feel guilt and regret the same way as you do. Let me take on what you cannot bear."

Blake shakes his head. "I don't want you to kill."

"I have promised you that I will not kill unless I have to. Like tonight." Bane caresses the younger man's cheek. "You must trust me."

"I trust you," says Blake, his eyes seeking Bane's blue gaze. "I don't trust _me_."

Momentarily confused, Bane cocks his head.

"I killed him," Blake explains, "because he aimed a gun at you. If it happens once, it'll happen again, and what if... God, what if I react the same way as I did just now? What if it's a kid who aims a gun at you?"

Bane sighs and presses his mouth against Blake's soft lips. It astounds him sometimes how innocent and pure this young man is, despite the horrors he has seen as a policeman and the sorrows he has lived through. "Little one, you killed a man who didn't hesitate to shoot his own people. And the day a kid can aim a gun at me while making sure neither of us can disarm him is the day we both ought to be shot."

"I killed him because he aimed a gun at you."

"You killed him because he aimed a gun at me which you know he had no compunctions about using."

"But Bane-"

"No." The rumble is a command; Blake shuts up. Bane cups Blake's cheeks again and touches their foreheads together. "You killed for me. I am honored by that. But I will bear the blood debts from now on, little one. I am strong enough to bear them, and you can remain an untainted symbol for this city that you love."

Blake swallows his protests and his fingers find their way to the back of Bane's neck. He can feel the scar tissue and knows that if he traces them down the spine, he'll feel the knots and starbursts of ancient injuries. "Bane... I cannot ask that of you."

"Let the blood cling to my hands, little one," murmurs Bane. "That can be my burden."

"Then what will I do? What is my burden to bear, Bane?" That is almost a plea from a confused young man, for all that Blake is nearing thirty.

Bane almost smiles and his mouth, ugly and twisted and scarred, brushes Blakes. He feels as though he is touching holy ground with his profane and vulgar skin, and he revels in the acceptance from Blake when those perfect lips parted.

"You will let me hold on to you," whispers Bane fervently, hoping that Blake understands. "Let me hold on to you."

Blake closes his eyes and deepens the kiss, and Bane thinks the younger man finally comprehends his role in Bane's life, and in Gotham city.


End file.
